A Diamond in the Storm
by Dreksler
Summary: A re-done version of my ill-fated story 'The Cold North'; when Tamriel is threatened once more, who will rise to defend it? But how do you defeat a monstrous god, whose prophecy says how you will fail and the world shall burn.  RATED M FOR VIOLENCE
1. Chp 1: Awakening

**CHAPTER ONE- AWAKENING  
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"Where am I? What is this place? I feel trapped in my head, as words loosely twist around each other. Ancient words, ancient dialects having survived the test of time- and yet I understand them well. My tongue clacks in my dry mouth, and I realise that my vocal cords struggle to make speech. It is a rasp, a ghost of my Altmer voice- that voice taunts me in my skull, loudly. It begins to drown out the sounds of flame licking my fingers- I look at them. And see there are no fingers. There is only bare, cold bone...pale in the flickering orange light.

A gust of magicka propels the flames away, carries them further afield- something grabs me, in its talons. It pants as it struggles to pull me away from the battlefield. Smoke hangs high above in the sky, blocking the sun- it makes me feel cold.

But then I realise... I am dead. And reborn into a new being entirely.

I am Mannimarco, King of Worms.**"**

* * *

><p>"Early morning...or was it night? I didn't really care either way, since I still couldn't move. My old apprentice, a Dunmer by the name of Nivryna is keeping me underground. 'For your health', she would always reply in that rasp of hers. Obviously, being a lich had some negative consequences for her. But for me? I revelled in it."<p>

Nivryna was worried. About her dark lord, her saviour... two-hundred years had made her attach herself fully to him. Become his tool of destruction and death- whenever he whispered, death followed. And so did the worm-thralls at that, she thought laughing at her own wit. But that didn't make her anxiety disappear. She pondered this over a corpse- with the head barely on, by a thin piece of skin. Her teeth clacked slightly in her head, as the hunger came over her. As a lich, she enjoyed the benefits of unlife. But when it came to food, well, that was more difficult to...solve. Her blood-red hair bounced, as she lowered herself down gently- and began to turn grey. Her face began to shrivel, and the flesh began to crawl off.

She lunged.

Mannimarco rested his head on the remains of his hand- and thought over his plan. Mannimarco, King of Worms, was going to make a return. And whether he should kill random people or not was the matter at hand. Whilst it was fun, it would quickly alert the authorities...and for once, Mannimarco would like to be subtle. Now, he only had to deliver the bad news to Nivryna. He barely cringed; instead, the bits of flesh on his face quivered slightly.

She would be upset. Oh well.

* * *

><p>Mannimarco shook himself awake, as the smell of freshly-prepared pie wafted through the stale air. Although, he had been dead for over two centuries, his stomach rumbled. His flesh shivered, as Nivryna set the pewter tray down in front of him. She smiled pleasantly, and rested her hands on her hips. Her blood-red hair bounced happily, as she took the seat opposite him. They ate blissfully- but that was shattered, when their captive began to groan. The man's eyes opened. His muffled screams made Nivryna giggle. His apple-green eyes frantically twitched in their sockets.<p>

Mannimarco, annoyed, grunted angrily as mutton was mashed in his mouth. Nivryna looked over at him, and worrying, stood up suddenly. She flipped her wrist and out came, her little knife. Her prized dagger shone with a red malice.

Wave. And thread through the air elegantly-like this! Slash. Slish. Slush, the torrent of blood rained down onto the white carpet. Mannimarco tore a piece of parchment, out of a hidden pouch, and scribbled something down. Nivryna, with her blood hair all over her face, panted. The old master held it up, for view.

And painted on it, was a perfect '10'


	2. Chp 2: The Seer Begins Her Travels

**CHAPTER TWO- THE SEER BEGINS HER TRAVELS**

Crazy, old witch. Gag her, shut out her ramblings- she speaks in riddles that are meaningless. Hold her down, as we tie thick rope to her skin. The old, Breton woman hears them as they speak; they speak with fear in their harsh voices. Fear lies under everything, she muses. She cackles loudly, as the rope cuts into her wrists.

She used to be somebody. But now, that somebody had been folded twenty times and spun out in a wild tumble- making no sense anymore. She was strapped down, contained, in this chair in the middle of this dark room. She revelled in the silence, quiet babbles erupting from her mouth every so often. But the visions came once more-she whimpered slightly, as if her eyes were being scorched themselves.

Tumble. Twist. Slow down- time beginning to move forwards, backwards and side to side. Tremor- booming voice. Scream, as a young girl reaches a hand towards her, as she falls. Air flicks the girl's hair up, and crack. Dead. Against an ancient floor. The apparitions of her mind begin to ripple and tear apart. A man being ripped apart, by monsters- their smiles as blood splashes into their eyes. An ancient demon snarls at her- and pierces her gut, with its bare hand. Clack of teeth in its head, as she falls to the wet ground.

Then nothing at all.

Allura Debreu wheezed hard; the air around her pecking against her skin like crows. Her white hair fell over her misty eyes; the skin hanging off her chin wobbled as she rocked in the chair. Her limbs were choking against the binding- and the strength was being drained. She stopped, sensing the magicka at work beneath her fingers. Nothing she could try would diffuse it away- so using the last bits of magicka she had, the ropes began to blacken and smoulder. Her hands began to shake wildly as her concentration started to slip.

Loose. She stood up, her bones creaking painfully. Stupid! Those villagers, with their posh houses and such, forgot to bind her small feet. Her knees cracked quietly as she took a stumbling step forward in the darkness- her fingers wrap around a small, door handle and pull gently. The door creaks loudly, as she staggers through, into a cold midnight. Allura could hear the gentle waves crash on the shoreline- and began to teeter towards the rumbles; her feet loose and drunk on the sand.

A few hours later...

Allura Debreu had escaped- the news spread like fire across the houses; nosy women hung around in the streets, whispering anxiously about where the old woman could have gone. The men were furious- how could a woman get past them, never mind the fact that she was an old nag?  
>Allura looked out across the gentle break-and-womb of the sea, at the Isle- Ada-mantia coiled high above, the top of it obscured in the thickening cloud above.<p>

She felt something was coming. Whether it was for good or worse was to be discovered.

Little holes in the ground- about the size of a small Breton child, thought Allura. Grey sands shifted, and collapsed into the pit. The old sorceress –jaded- flicked the long trains of her tattered, green robes over her arms and wringed her hands together, gathering up warmth in her old fingers. She peered down, uninterested, into the darkness. She leered slightly, as she saw the remains of an old man, curled against the wall. His skin had nasty black blotches- the end of his fingertips were mouldy green. His cheeks were sliced open, and the bone inside started to smell foul.

_The miracles of preservation. Evidently the temperature of Hammerfell contributes to decomposition... good to know._ She withdrew a long, knobbly stick- a bump bruising the smooth lumber- and prodded the body's head. It lolled loose, and slid down the sand wall a little. She cringed a little as the wind messed up her white coif- the cold breeze biting into her bones. The stars ran across the sky high above, and Allura sighed gently.

Hammerfell, the province of the Redguards- when the sun burned high above, you could die of dehydration; likewise when the pale moons were up, you could die of hypothermia. _Perfect for one with a death wish... _She turned into the breeze, and trudged through the sands.

To where or who or what was something left to fate.


	3. Chp 3: Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend

**CHAPTER THREE: DIAMONDS ARE A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND. **

Shiny. A pretty, little diamond laid out on the dark table-top. A small glint of white light shone into her blood-shot eyes, catching her attention even more. Her pointed ears were perked up, cleaning the air of sound and stuffing it down to her eardrums. The dark-elf gulped quietly in the shadow- she had entered some nobleman's house, in the north district of town. The hallway, where she was ducking now, was quite small- she was pressed against a rack of hanging coats. Fur-lined, gold-trimmed... Why was it that the rich ones were always lucky? She shook her head clean of thoughts, as her eyes zoomed on the table across the dark-shadow sea.

She leaped across, flitting across the gap and seized the diamond in her scrawny hands. And a high-pitched scream rang through her ears; she twisted her head around to meet a young woman's chip-blue eyes widened in fear. _Kaoc! Why me of all nights, huh? Shitfuckdamn!_ The dark-elf female twirled around, and began to run towards the door- pleasant moonlight shining through the glass panes. Sakkara slipped, and cracked her knees against the stony floor. She grunted in pain- the blonde noblewoman behind her screamed again.

Sakkara's gaunt hand reached out, and clenched around the embossed door handle. She stumbled into the cold, black night- her knee throbbing as she teetered on the streets. Her home.

Sakkara panted harshly, as she sprinted down the street- soaking her feet in the puddles- coarse shouts following her. Her auburn hair whipped around her lean shoulder, as she slid around a street corner. To a dead-end wall, spiralling about a foot high- it was clean-shaven and smooth. Sakkara cursed loudly into the night, as the iron manacles sliced into her wrists. She screamed, as she was tugged along by gruff, Nordic guards- whose annoyed leers scorched into the back of her head.

She gave up eventually; as they hulled her along the cold cobblestone- her shouts were quiet. Her voice was hoarse, and a dull ache trembled down her throat.


	4. Chp 4: Premonition

**CHAPTER FOUR- PREMONITION**

Early morning across the desert plains- the shimmering of the sun glowed red, marking the landscape a cool black. Sand budged at Debreu's feet, her bones welcoming the wave of warmth surging across the land. She smiled, her face creasing but pleasant lines framing the sides of her mouth.

Allura slid down, through the sand dune- her long nails raking through, etching a trail behind her. Pale sand flecked up into the long, white strands of her hair. She came to a gradual stop, and hoisted herself- her knees twanging slightly. She brushed sand off of the dirty, green robes wrapped around her fragile figure. _They say grace comes with age... bah!_

But pulling her head, she came face-to-face with a desert crawler.

Her teeth gritted together, pulling her old lips into an ugly sneer- the desert worm's orange eyes that were neatly laid out in a row on top of its crinkly head, blinked nastily at her. It opened its mouth, revealing many layers of serrated teeth gnashing and juggling around inside. It shimmied, on its fat body- snaking its way through the sand towards her, like the worm it was. Allura carefully began to grab her walking stick [fashioned from desert driftwood], which was laid across the body of her back. The sand worm leaped, and spiralled through the air. The walking stick twirled in her aged fingers, and she struck upwards- to the stomach. Pose strong. Feet squarely on the ground- but a gurgling, worm stuck on the sharp end. Blood poured onto her hands, making them slick.

She dumped it aside, with a heave of her shoulders... and carried on regardless.

* * *

><p>Allura had walked at least twenty miles, due east- against the track of the sun, running up above. Her pale skin had taken on a warm, orange colour after twelve hours. Night was fast approaching across the horizon, the shadowy sands beginning to run towards her. The sand disappeared underneath- it changed from soft and flowing, to scattered pebbles and dirt. She looked up to be met with the sight of small, mud huts- the roofs made of broken sticks stuck together with mud.<p>

She sighed, happily, having found civilization at last.

* * *

><p>A shadow rippled as it climbed a dark tower- malicious grin. Mechanical eyes zoomed in, as it let it go. Death flying a long, thin shadow. Splat of blood, as a figure fell. A roar of cries trapped itself over her ears- people moving, like blurs, around her with panic in their eyes.<p>

Flash- time accelerates. Figures cloaked in robes talking frantically- symbols etched in walls glowing. A demon, opening its mouth and lunging at her. She felt herself being pulled away, out, and feeling as if she was in water. Bubbles floated around her, images flicking quickly inside each. _Look, listen. Soon, the bane of kings shall unfurl... along with the world. You are needed in Skyrim, Debreu- you must help the Dovahkiin and her kin. _She tried to talk, but found the words dying on her tongue.

Allura woke up with a gasp, and real life began to filter through her eyelids- it was still dark. She panted, and clenched her aching head. Those words? They kept running around her skull, pushing out against her eyes. She looked around herself- her make-shift walking stick, was lying next to her prodding stick. They were glistening in the moonlight. The green robes were loosened slightly around her middle- she sat up, her back protesting. Allura, through her old eyes, could see only a little in the dark-with a lazy twirl of her hand, her vision cleared. The shadows were rendered a light purple...nothing out of the ordinary poked out at her.

_Skyrim? Why? Why must I go? _She appealed to the Nine Divines, but experience taught her their answers were naught or cryptic at best. She had at least a hundred years of experience with religion and its follies, she thought bitterly. But she was meant to do something, and it was wise to comply. And curiosity struck through her bones, making her question her visions. She always had visions, even when she was little girl in Alinor- but recently, the visions were beginning to take over. And they had something to do with Skyrim. _Vague- who is this 'bane of kings'? _

Allura Debreu came out of the hut, at the break of dawn. She asked one of the Redguard nomads, where she could hitch a ride to the Skyrim border. The dark-skinned woman paused in thought, screwing her face up slightly. She told Allura, in a thick accent, to go to 'Skaven'. There, she could catch a carriage to Falkreath, in the far south. Allura thanked her, and set on her way.

Never once thinking about her past- but only of her role to come.


	5. Interlude 1: Sentencing The Wicked

**INTERLUDE ONE- SENTENCING THE WICKED**

Early morning in the prison blocks of Solitude- streaks of red sunrise decorated themselves across the rusty, iron bars. And in a dark corner, Sakkara sat calmly. She could hear the wails of women ring across the cold walls, and the shouts of drunks erupting next door. She shook her head, and shivered. What had she gotten herself into?

Looking over the piece of paper she held in her small hands, she whimpered as fresh tears began to trail down her cheeks.

**Name of Criminal:** Sakkara Dran

**Offence:** Theft

**Additional Crimes: **Repeat offender- has been jailed at least twenty times, each sentence only lasting a month. Also, it is asked whether terrorising an innocent would be considered in sentencing. Victim still has trouble sleeping, and is haunted by nightmares.

The Imperial officer had read this off to the Dunmer- each sentence slamming home, into her head. Each word struck fear into her chest... but the words to change it all?

"Execute her"


	6. Interlude 2: Solitude

**INTERLUDE TWO- SOLITUDE**

Allura Debreu was counting the hours as they passed, as she sat on the back of the carriage. She swayed left and right, as the carriage bounced up and down over the small pebbles.

Allura stepped off the carriage, her feet crunching softly in the snow. It was a fresh morning, the cold crisp against her tired skin. But she still had to go on- the place in her dreams was far away. She could feel a tugging on her frame- a mystical pull- somewhere to the north-east. She pulled the crinkled map down, from behind her ear [given to her by a friendly Nord, who might have been inebriated] and folded it out, onto the ground.

Her finger trailed, limp, over the surface of the map...until it jerked, and landed flatly on a city called 'Solitude'. She smiled, satisfied.

* * *

><p>Allura had just arrived at the tall, Imperial-style gates of Solitude- crows circled high above, around the tower turrets. Blue flags hung down, flapping gently with the light wind. She pulled the ripped hood over her face; masking herself... she made sure to charm the guards as she passed.<p> 


	7. Chp 5: Dignity and Faith

**CHAPTER FIVE- DIGNITY AND FAITH**

Sakkara Dran was counting the hours she had left of live. She thought of her mother- what would she say? Her grandparents would die of shock for sure. She rested her head on her curled-up knees, and began to quietly sob.

Dignity and faith- two things most respectable Dunmer held higher than anything. Sakkara had none of each. She had no faith in the Nine [her family would most likely disown her if she did], in the daedra [they made things happen, her grandfather would argue. Yeah- not necessarily good things she would argue back] - these fond memories passed through her head, making her sob harder. If she had dignity, she wouldn't be a lowly thief.

She shook her head, letting the long-strands of muddy hair fall over her dark face. She cleared away her tears, with her right forefinger and flicked it away towards the grimy wall. Her eyes dry, she began to focus on her face. She took both of her hands, and raked them through her auburn locks- trying to clear away the dirt.

If she was going to bow out, she might as well look nice doing so.

Midday, a day later:

They called her name- the guards, dressed in blue uniform, waited outside her cell. She quickly tied her hair in a messy bun, and tried to scrape the dirt off her face. She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her head up, elegantly stretching her neck. Regal for a prisoner- they took her arms, grasping her tightly in their gauntlet fists. She sighed silently, as they paced her down a dim corridor.


	8. Chp 6: The Assassin

**CHAPTER SIX- THE ASSASSIN**

Early morning in the mountain ranges- the red spilled over the white blankets of snow, and a few flakes began to fall over his black hood. Etienne took out a piece of parchment from his fur-lined pockets, being careful not to meet the eyes of the Imperial inspector. The old man grunted his approval, and ushered the gates open with an affirmative nod.

Etienne absorbed the sights around him, and made a mental map to himself. Over there! The chapel rises tall, almost as tall as the black mountains on the dying horizon. Made of cobbled stone, he imagined that it was very cold inside during the winter season. The houses around him rose high above; their thatch roofs casting the street into a mess of red sunset and black shadow.

And finally, look! A large tower- made of pure-white stone, with an iron, pitched roof [that pitched at strange, sharp angles]. He could barely see the rusty, iron railings run along the open balcony. He turned his head left, and saw what seemed to be the main plaza of Solitude. And the rush of people as they built a stand of some sort... with slippery stairs running on one side of the wooden platform that was being made. Realization hit him.

Kings always attended executions- something to do with officiating the ordeal. He smirked clenching the small crossbow in his pocket.

Etienne Laroche counted the hours he had left until his plans came to fruition. He had everything planned, and he kept running over it in his head. Now, he had only to wait till tomorrow for his majesty to arrive.

* * *

><p>His nails grasped the thin, stone edge tightly- his shrouded chest grazed along, as he lifted himself up along the dark wall. He gasped for air, as his arms ached painfully. He pushed on regardless, determined to get his target. As well as the hefty sum of gold that was placed on the High King's head. The wind rushed past him harshly, like it was trying to push him off. A fall now would certainly hurt...perhaps kill. The sun began to rise, behind him.<p>

"Finally! Etienne Laroche is in position. He is far cleverer than I thought, master. Striking afar, from atop. Genius!"

"Ah, but remember, he has no idea of the role he is to play. He is only a pawn in our little play- and therefore easily expendable."

"Of course! But...what happens i-if he fails? Surely, then we can't topple that empire of Men?"

"To think of failure, my apprentice is to seek it. We will succeed in our endeavours, and revel in the fall of Man."

They looked at each other, smiled and twisted their heads back into the crowd. Their eyes flicked left and right, as people milled in to witness an execution. Where not one person would die, but two.


End file.
